


Let's Dine Away

by volunteerfd



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteerfd/pseuds/volunteerfd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The biggest secret Wilson keeps from Wesley? That Wesley is an awful cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Dine Away

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Reviews are very appreciated!

“Are you excited about tonight?” Wilson asked.

“Very.” She had never been in Wesley’s apartment, so she was excited to see what his apartment was like. Modern and Spartan, she imagined. Tasteful and high-end, but a bachelor pad nonetheless. 

Wilson sheepishly confided in Vanessa about his and Wesley’s relationship, and then, hemmed and hawed around the real question: polyamory, please? She didn’t tell them, but Vanessa had been expecting the question since the night Wilson told her “Wesley is more than my assistant. He’s my friend.” No one ever said “He’s my friend” like that, if they were really just friends.

Wesley stayed on the fringes of the relationship for a while. First, Vanessa thought he wasn’t completely comfortable with the arrangement. Had she taken Wilson away from him? Need they have a talk? Then she realized that was just Wesley. He was a people-pleaser, albeit highly selective of the people he pleased, and he considered himself an enhancement to their relationship, but not an equal member. But that was how he was most comfortable.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Wilson said with that tone of confessional dread. At one point, her  mind would dance with possibilities: was someone trying to kill them? Was he a fugitive? Did he kill JFK? Now, she was so used to his conflicts that she didn’t bother. “Wesley is cooking tonight.”

“And is he trying to poison us?” 

“He is…not very good at it.”

“Well, he can’t be all that bad. He would know, wouldn’t he?” Wesley’s remarkable palate extended not just to wine but to cuisine. He wasn’t a foodie like Wilson, but when he did eat gourmet, he appreciated what he was eating on an educated level. That didn’t necessarily mean he would make a good chef, of course, but she didn’t expect his cooking to be so bad as to crush Wilson’s soul.

“I never told him.” 

“ _Wilson-_ -” She wondered when their relationship went from forbidden love in a crime drama to whatever childish sitcom mess this was

“Please.”

“I don’t want to get sick.”

“You won’t get sick,” he said, with an unspoken “probably” and “this means a lot to me.”

* * *

 

Of course Wesley had risotto before. Surely, he knew that it shouldn’t be crunchy. And that the wine was supposed to cook down. And the liquid shouldn’t overflow; it shouldn’t resemble a soup. It was so uncharacteristic that this man of so much talent and culture would feed his two lovers crunchy risotto soup in wine broth. 

The image of Wesley she had would play to his abilities. Risotto might be a little out of his league, but even college boys had one dish they could make if they were hosting a semi-adult dinner. Something easy but mature, simple but tasty. 

Vanessa suspected that Fisk’s “I never told him” meant “I gushed about his food so much that his ears turned red and he believed me.” Like an indulgent parent telling his child that their paste pie was delicious, smiling stiffly and choking it down. It was so out of character, Wesley’s little weakness, this lack of self-awareness in this one particular area of life, that Vanessa couldn’t help but smile throughout the whole meal.

“Delicious,” Vanessa said, sipping the wine. The wine  _was_ delicious. She expected no less. Wesley was a charming host, gracious and sweet. This, she expected as well. 

“You know that show Come Dine With Me? It’s big in the UK,” she said, to Wilson’s blank stare and Wesley’s polite but unknowing gaze. “Four people host a dinner party, and then the others rank them on a scale of one to ten.”

“Ah,” Wesley said, picking at his rice. “I wonder what rank I would receive.”

It was an unmistakable sideways question: Is the night to your liking? Did I do OK? Wesley was not a man to ask directly and expose his vulnerability, not even to those closest to him.

“I’d give you a nine. Everything you do is always perfect except–” She was going to bring up the cooking, but lightly, with tact and extreme understatement, but she stopped when she saw Wilson looking at her. “–except I don’t want to give you a big head about it. Wouldn’t hurt to keep you trying.”

Wesley’s eyes gave a rare twinkle and was that a blush? 

“Thank you,” he said, looking down. Yes, then, definitely a blush he was trying to hide.

“I’d give you a ten, Wesley.” Vanessa felt a surge of relief. Wilson’s score was all that mattered.

* * *

Wesley went to the kitchen to get dessert. Vanessa raised her eyebrow at Wilson. She began the night thinking, “We will need to talk about this eventually.” She changed her mind to “We will need to talk about this if it becomes a more common occurrence.” The wine was good, at least, but then, it always was with Wesley.

Wesley brought out an elaborate Italian dish. She wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be elaborate. His pronunciation was crisp and fluent, but Vanessa was trying to figure out how not to eat the last course.

“Well, uh, enjoy,” Wesley said, sliding into his chair.

Vanessa kept her gaze on Wesley. 

“You,” she said, moving around the table and, with a lot of grace and little shame, crawling into his lap, “are very adorable.” She pushed his hair back in thick tufts.  “I think we can skip dessert.” 

Wesley’s appetites were small, both for food and for sex. It was a coin toss which would triumph. The hair-tousling was an attempt to steer him in the right direction: Wesley would only abide a hair out of place pre-, post- or mid-coitus. If his hair got mussed, he would have sex.

“Well, I wouldn’t be a very good host if I didn’t accommodate my guests,” Wesley choked out.

“I might have to knock you down to an eight.”

“I can’t let that happen. I’m very competitive.” 

Vanessa smiled and threw her head back so that she could see Wilson upside down.

“Are you OK with this change of plans?”

“Oh. I, uh, it would be a shame to waste dessert but…” He smiled at her, an unspoken “thank you.”

 


End file.
